


starve

by Orca (Orca2)



Category: N/A - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:09:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orca2/pseuds/Orca





	1. misery

quality over quantity, huh? just put one word after the other and somehow im supposed to improve? i don't think it works like that. whatever, ill play along, and simply write whatever comes to mind, with no forethought or planning. this abomination will lack any form of continuity.

im convinced theres something wrong with me, time passes by and nothing changes, im the same person i was yesterday, and the day before that. arent i supposed to be something, by now? where is my identity, the wisdom that comes with age? people younger than i have defined lines in their art, a dignified lilt to their speech, fingers that dart across the keys as if it were second nature.

me? i am no one. master of nothing. renaissance in all things trivial and unimportant. too casual or too pompous, my words don't fit, don't flow, theres always something wrong with me, thank you im well aware. gut myself like a fish, cast aside the skin and let it sink to the sea floor. i can’t say that i care much for who i am outside or in. a mistake, i was, most likely, although mother is tight-lipped as always. im somewhere else now, but is it really any better? i no longer yearn for a sleep i don't wake from, but should i? maybe its a bunch of bullshit, maybe i could see the world clearer that way. im not destined for greatness, value for your own life is only meant for people who actually intend to do something with it.

what can you contribute, deary? a side eye, a judgemental snicker, while having nothing presentable of your own. a lying girl, disgusting girl, theres maggots in your hair and rotted holes in your teeth. you serve no one good. you can't do anything well. average, at best. grow up, please, its excuse after excuse and the victim game all over again. when will you learn? 

i did it all over again. i spun myself a web of lies, im trapped in another pit ive dug for myself. how long will my habit of screaming for attention last? i hate myself, i don't deserve to live, im the type of person everyone despises, vile to the very core. i hope it catches up to me. i hope reality spits in my face and drags me through the dirt. i need to choke it down and except that no one is ever gonna give a fuck about me besides myself.

missy, why can’t you make any friends? is it because you don't have a personality of your own? nobody wants hang out with a cardboard box. fake, from my hair to my laughter, i sway with any opinion that comes my way. i should just hold my ground, i know, if i actually had a foundation to stand upon in the first place. 

im dying anyways, its inevitable, if i actually want it to happen doesnt that give me control? i trust you, three in the morning, clouds in the orchestra. is a moment or two all that i have, ill just wait passively and hope that something worthwhile happens. who am i? im not yours, but if you asked i would absolutely cave and let you have everything. i don't value myself because theres nothing to value. why are you here? why do you care? i don't think you do, your just desperate and your standards have dropped because its your last year. 

kinder, softer, thighs that taper out in perfect thin lines. nimble hands that play the piano with ease, a tongue that doesnt tumble over itself, lips that come with string to sow them shut. i waste my time, i don't deserve to spend it well, both statements are true. 

im a monster, thats what i am. the opposite of what all girls should be. i was raised in a barn and i live in a pile of mud. i thrive off of ruining what other people love. im much like the sun in that if you stare at me too long your eyes will shrivel up and fall out. nasty, nasty, ive done wrong everything i myself condemn other people for, all the most simple rules of human decency. im a detestable human being, maybe a separate subspecies altogether. 

miss leo, miss july, miss copyright infringement and plagiarism, how does it feel to have things that don't belong to you attached to your name? are you proud? do you feel gloriously accomplished, like you've so wanted to be? you shine like a star far too close, needy for attention that you in no way deserve. get out, leave, put out that flame which has been used countless times to ignite what had taken years of careful labor to build. your an inconsiderate demon, your unholy hands with dirt perpetually packed beneath the fingertips, you curse everything you touch.

you do not bring the type of destruction that can be rebuilt from, like wildfire sparks in spring, you simply twist what already exists into something grotesque and dysfunctional. a revulsive sight to behold.

maybe this does work. or maybe im just getting ahead of myself, i can be rather delusional. i say that world far too often. i have a vocabulary of only about twelve words, it appears. although that doesn't come as much of a surprise. 

smile up at you and rip my hair out. except i can’t do that anymore, ive gotten too tall to tilt my head back when i meet your eyes. i don't want to be my age. who am i if not a child, making mistakes because im still learning. why am i still learning, i should understand it by now. am i mentally retarded, no, i don't believe in that anymore, and im certainly done using it as an excuse. im simply lazy, an incorrigibly useless member of society. i don't want this for myself, i don't want to be this way.

i want to wrap my bloodied and blistered hands with gauze, feel my eyes swell with tears as i go on my third night without any sleep, and fifth day without food, caffeine pills thrumming through my veins. i hate myself every moment im not disciplining myself, which is to say, every moment. maybe mom should have hit me more, i might have ended up somewhere better. i have floated where the river takes all people who succumb to it, the pile of rejects and misfit toys.

what a stupid analogy, you think your so smart, with your pretentious thesaurus speak, when you can’t even use proper grammar. kill yourself.  

a white toothed girl that looks like she should be on the cover of a magazine, short and pleasant and effortlessly perfect, that's a human being that deserves to exist. blue eyes that sparkle with wisdom from the thousands of lifetimes she's lived before now, carrying the knowledge from each textbook she's read cover to cover. an easy smile you could get lost in, and not want to return home. your capable of achieving anything you want, even though you probably don't need to be, if you asked nicely enough it would be handed to you.

wishy washy, you can’t excell in something if your too scared to devote yourself to a passion. just keep your doors open, don't get ahead of yourself, like you so like to do in your love life. take your time, do things slowly at first, its okay. don't live your life trying to impress, it doesnt matter where other people are at. 

another wonderfully unproductive day locked in my room, i havent seen the sky in weeks. kill me, kill me.

my stomach hurts. anything that came to mind, i said, which means no stalling, even the dumb shit gets written down. ewe, is that really how i sound in my head? i curse to myself, no wonder i sound so stupid when i speak. we could really benefit if you invested in a dictionary. maybe this will help us express whats on our mind better, if we do it word for word like this. maybe this will get too personal at some point. just how far can i go into the night doing this, i want to get in a decent number of hours for sleep, and its making my bones ache that im not studying for my ap right now. if i don't get a five on that bitch, i need to stop cursing, i sound illiterate, i don't want to be ugly on the inside as well. 

its too hot, why did these idiots– again with the fillers, how can i ever be taken seriously when my thought process is that vulgar. filler words, your too unintelligent to find an adjective to replace it, apparently. anyways, its far too hot in here. they do strange things with the thermostat and it stresses me out because i don't want the energy bill to be too high. 

why is the concept of cutting myself open so appealing? its the first words that leave my mouth when speaking is prompted. and by mouth i mean mind. i feel like people are too gaurded, always trying to keep up a front. i say that as if im not the worst culprit of it. what im trying to get at is that this will fall on unwilling ears, people don't want to open up to strange things.

what am i saying. i feel like this has devolved into bullshit, so ill stop. the parts where i actually put effort into it turned out exponentially better than, lets say, this part.

i guess were not done for the night after all. itd be pointless to try and sleep now. anyways, i swear i had written certain sentences down on here, and theyve just disappeared? i don't remember getting rid of them they just, didnt save or something. that sucks. im not gonna try and rephrase them because i can’t remember the exact wording.

stop it, im not going to improve if i write so casually. wheres the flare, the immersive detail. this started with me hating on myself but now that ive gotten all that passion out im kind of flat. i could continue on with my self loathing but it wouldn’t have the same bite as it did before, theres no fire behind it. that phrase sounds familiar, i must have pocketed a snip of dialogue from the wolf among us and rebranded it as my own, as i can’t think of another interest of mine that would use that type of phrasing.

deathly, cold. distant as the moon when your arms would reach out to it. he is untouchable, his heart a crevice too deep to see the bottom of. only sharks lurk within those violently racking waves, no one calls his heart home, not even himself.

popping pills like candy. they catch against the inside of my throat, its a rough and powdery texture, i nearly gag. there's a distinct griminess in the taste of my defeat. 

staring at my hands with strings of white attaching the fingers, similarly to how shinji did in evangelion. regret is a pool of water as it slowly submerges me past my eyes, and i am completely enveloped by it. the fraction of a second between enjoyment and disgust is long, the border i chase yet wish i had never crossed. im lying when i say i wouldn’t love to see those blue eyes swollen with black patches of skin surrounding them, and snowy hair clumped with blood. im sick to the core, i lament, and then i revel in.

white eyelashes curled against his delicate cheekbone. the silent movements he makes are saturated with poise.

he'll twirl in circles before the long mirror, meeting his own criticizing gaze at each revolution. its incessant, almost an addiction, if it was possible to be addicted to such a thing. outside of here, an array of expressions can decorate his face at any given time, shifty smiles, eyes agleam with interest or mischief. here, he seldom even blinks. nowhere else is shinya enraptured by such seriousness.

afterwards, they don't speak. shinya lets his light strands of hair fall around his face as he unlaces the ribbons on his ballet shoes. 

he’s unresponsive, distant, at times. it makes kureto wonder the extent shinya loathes his adoptive family, or simply longs to have his biological one back. when he walks into his room, he's sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring into space. 

thats enough of that. i don't like when i write something that ends up confining my options, or leading the story down a path i don't want it to go in.

gorgeous boy who works himself too hard and turns into a swan. perfection is my middle name. feathers on your back would be white, dear. i can see the letters dancing across the page with my night-tinted sleepless vision. i yearn for a quiet house, an hour to my own, but alas light still seeps through the crack beneath my door. the strings of his lips are tuned to play the sweetest of lies. even his threats are lilted in a melody. i loved him, for so long, too long. im growing old sweetheart, hold my cheek as i whither away and you stay in one place. i don't want to fall asleep, this isn't enough time anyways.

i don't want to die, yes i do. 

just write, write write write, i want to be something, so bad, my whole being aches. i remember the coffee shop we went to, in the little town with the quaint shops. there were rugs, sofas, a large window to look out past the street to the drizzle of rain. i don't remember where this town was, but id give anything to live there. green, lush, so unlike the dead wasteland ive grown up in. what a disgusting town, its only sand and dead animal bones and unforgiving sun that beats down every day of the year.

school, starting not to love it as i had recently learned to. its flare is fading, im fading, the excitement of novel experiences now hangs between unsaid words. no one wants to engage, its all just avoidance of glances and the heavy burden of the future. love me, love me not, i don't need to ask because its always the latter. i am nothing to no one, a book on the shelf that nobody picks up. in old age, no one will care to hear my stories and they will wither away with me, my life dissipating just as quickly as it emerged. im forgotten, my bones of porcelain heavy from their dissuse. strings hang from my joints. an antique that lacks the glimmer of newer models, the paint chipping off in places.

i hate my life. a seed of dark nights upon us, a promise to never end. the days spin, im left dizzy and alone.

who, who, why, what. im tired, a dissapointment to myself. i type with closed eyes, seeing a black keyboard behind my lids. i promised myself i wouldn’t drift off. and where am i? gone, far from here.

i am a different person with each hour of the day. im alone. i hate myself. i don't seem to be capable of many phrases beyond that when im stuck. tears are drying on my fingertips, the night tugs at me in such a way that i cry without a reason to. disastrous, i hate myself. my stomach will canabalize itself due its agony of having to be inside of me. there is no worse place to exist.

no one hates me more than i hate me. no one wants me to get what i deserve more than i. i can hardly type. i don't know what i think. i don't know who i is. i don't think i like them.


	2. desperate

im in my head too much. i think and think and think but i don't _do_. daydreams mean nothing. indecisive, airheaded, i can’t stick with something for more than a second. i waste my time i waste my life, im a rotting corpse left leaning against the wall, motionless and silent.

breath has been sucked from my lungs, the outside world is a vacuum and i find myself spilling my innards to the desolate air. unforgiving are the hands that rake at my closed lips, an emptiness that manifests into a physical form which haunts my every word. 

i hated myself then, and i hate myself now. things don't change after all, at least for me. theres no future for me. i will amount to nothing. nothing, nothing, nothing, 

im a malfunctioning machine. theres something wrong in my code. im made from scrap metal and rusting parts, a failed first attempt to be discarded, im a mistake to be learned from. 

im sick, i feel sick, my chest aches, im a liar, a fake, worthless, talentless. i am truly a waste of space. my gravestone is nameless, as i could never be one thing at a time. i don't deserve anything. im disgusting. 

be passive, don't have an agenda, okay, okay, that should work, make things seem more natural. 

i miss the dreary gray summer evenings. delicate bones of porcelain.

i held your hand today. it was only for a moment, done on a whim of impulse. my heart fluttered, your eyes were endlessly blue and i could see the hesitance in them when i reached out towards you. 

i want to be worthy of your affection. i won't wait around any longer. love is a fucking liar and im done being stomped into the ground by it. why would you humor the possibility of me when you could have her?

my stomach is quaking, twisting into knots in its empty agony. this is the first unnourished day of many to come.

i made a move. 

what an oppressing sense of self disdain i got to experience. why can’t i form words properly. why am i not shaped how i should. i hate myself. the tears gather at the corner of my eyes. first person or third, past or present tense, i myself cannot decide the perspective which i view my life. who am i. i know who i don't want to be. im so tired, so scared, so fearful. im not ready to be an adult, not prepared. why the fuck did you do this to me. why the fuck did i do this to myself. 

im incompetent. stupid. illiterate. ill kill myself. im fat. im ugly. 

here at our little pond having long hair or being thin makes you a prized possession. here everyone has both perfect bodies and long silky hair as if that is simply the baseline standard. im not going to lie to myself. im going to starve. at least three days without eating, for the rest of my life. its in intervals. 

i can distract myself. i need the time to fucking study, anyways. do something with my fucking life. practice reading music. take notes. cry. become something beautiful. shed my skin, leave my past behind. i want to be new, fresh, young. i want my insides to be hollow.

im a wooden figurine, that you keep widdling at because you made a mistake. eventually, there will be nothing left of me. my face turns bright red so frequently. i hate my life. ill make my life. im in so much pain. sorry im not to your liking. your welcome for not being to mine.

you don't want me around. im a fly, a parasite, trust me. or don't, ill just lie to you anyways. in the tower of structural bones i am the one at the foundation which collapses, and causes the downfall of everyone relying on me.

fuck you. im tired. nowhere near as tired as she was, probably. to get that five. that five im not gonna get. i couldnt put in the hours, even though i had plenty to spare. i was dedicated, just lazy. im fucking retarded. i can’t do anything right. i hate myself. i don't deserve to live. i hate myself.

period. blood. mess. im anticipating it. im going to cry, to blemish, to grow, all the things you promised wouldn’t happen. im never eating again. atophagy. bullshit. i never wanna hear you spout that nonsense again. 

die die die die die die ill misspell it soon. oop there it is. what a moron. how incompetent. how stupid. i can’t draw i can’t play piano i can’t speak a second language i can’t speak a first language i can’t write i cant do math im not pretty im not smart.

i think ive done enough writing today. oh well.

i made a list of all the things wrong with myself, in that twisting car ride up the mountain. i cried until there was no moisture inside me. tears streamed down my face from dusk to dawn. i shriveled away into nothing. it was nice. it was a storm a long time coming. water vapor had built in its heavy condensation in the clouds above until it was a dark gray. a fully ripened fruit, holding on by a thread, just begging to drop.

rather than grit my teeth and loathe the inevitable plummet into the spiked claws of this unforgiving desert, i succumbed to it. wrap me up and tear gaping visceral wounds into my surface, past the skin and into the muscle. i want red jagged lines in deep crevices across my abdomen, bloodied sockets where my eyes once rolled within.

my stomach was truly hollow. im a pitted fruit that houses nothing but incorporeal malice and unfulfilled dreams. the earth spun in revolution, like a ballerina on its axel, four whole times before nourishment touched my lips. the count would've shifted to six had it not been for a manipulative snake teasing my weak resolve on the second day.

im not in love.

my soul's lament is anything but soft. delicate, frail, sweet, are not words that stick to my skin. the labels wash away in streaks of impermanent marker. its a lie.

i just want to be perfect. perfect is more than daft promises and the malicious threats that leave your mouth. perfect is more than the cum drying on your fingertips and disgusting fantasies that play on cassette tapes in the back of your mind. perfect is more than absolute dominance and inhumane lack of empathy.

im not a swan, im not a doll, im not a deer.

im a boy. ugly, crass, with dirt under my fingernails and foul cusses that leave my bloodied mouth. my fists are forever flexed into balls. my knuckles had not seen a sunrise without a thin coating of scabs.

i don't allow myself to heal. a fight always follows closely behind the previous one, i lack all form of restraint. i cannot keep from lashing out. im still a child in that i am bitter, i blame mistakes on anyone but myself, i make a mess of all that i touch. my pride is overwhelming, my wrath all-encompassing.

my life is under the month of spring, my soul belongs to the blazing spark of sun.

i won't quiet. i won't shrink. i am not a girl. i'm done trying to be one. my legs will spread never and for no one. similar to most things, you'll have to drag me kicking and screaming in order for my compliance.

if anything, ill be the one fucking you, forcing you into submission.

my white lily. pure and translucent. you're an angel, white feathered wings on your back, soft as a dove. that tongue of yours can only speak prophecies of things distant and whimsical. to be graced by your holy presence is an honor i don't deserve. 

he's the light to my darkness. the yin (passive feminine) to my yang (active masculine). white never belonged on me, the color drained from me when i tried to adopt it, and stained into something darker, devolved into streaks of fiery warm colors. my natural state is dominance, i must accept that.

meek, i used to call myself by, pink and soft, i used to vow by. i cried and pleaded and wished with every fiber of my being that i could be silent. 

how laughable.


	3. diary

im never goind to be pretty. even if i lose weight, even if i grow out my hair, there are already so many girls like that. the strands of my hair are always tangled and greasy, unappealing. im past the age lusted after. it would take too long. i will never be in love mutually. no one wants me. 

my skin will never be light enough, i can never accomplish the milky white pigment i long for. why can’t i be pretty. will being pretty really solve all my problems? is it really worth striving for?

shall i list everything wrong with me again? my misshapen eyelids, my unsymmetrical face. what do i do, what do i do...

i hate yellow. i might dye my hair black again. i want to be androgynous, but that spot is already occupied now that she cut all her hair off to mirror me. and my chest isn't flat enough to pull it off. i will be second place to her in all aspects. after i stock up on kale, im not gonna eat for the rest of spring break. well that fucking failed.

im so anxious. maybe writing about it will help me overcome it, like how it did with my self hatred. 

just give in to your impulse. im wasting my young years. i need to be an opportunist.

this is my diary. here words spill unchecked and unfiltered. there's no judgement, and also nothing but. i feel like a wasted my time this break. i need to study more. but i don't have any resources that are working for me at the moment.

hypothetical scenarious, huh? of words that flow together like silk, woven with care and utmost precision. he's so sweet and unassuming. he hadn't seen a blink of the real world yet, in his mind all that life consisted of was pirouettes and classical music. his horizon was anything but broad. his view was focused in on one infinitesimal speck of all the possibilities out there. he was so dedicated, so set on his path despite not having experienced enough to truly make decisions for himself.

sometimes kureto wants to shake him like a ragdoll, and sometimes he actually goes through with it. shinya's simply not grounded in reality. so air-headed it's frustrating. 

im gonna try writing dialogue first and then adding.

"i fucking hate myself" the words are spit in your face, scraping against the back of my raw throat. my foot makes a solid collision with your stomach, and my hands claw at the skin of the individuals trying to hold me back, drawing streaks of red. glossy pictures of you used to decorate a shrine in my pitiful bedroom, atop the table by which i sleep, and now you've gone and fucked me over. i handed my heart to you, still beating and fresh out of my chest, and you crushed it without hesitation. my dedication was stronger than my will to live. whereas it was nothing more than mere strings that hold the seams of a doll together, to keep the cotton stuffing from bursting, the fate which connected us was fibrous. 

slashes of razors with tips sharper than i could've anticipated severed the cord between my beating heart and your existance. i have always been an unruly ghost. i live for no reason more than to haunt your words, and to follow your footsteps like an obedient pet. this obsession of mine was my leash. 

ive gone and fucked up. i had it, i had everything, and its all gone. i thought i was nothing then, and now im here. i didnt think it could get any worse, while i was at my peak. i fucking hate myself. i got worse, i was so good and i lost it. i lost my talent. ive declined. how the fuck. why the fuck. im anidiot for deleting my works, ill regret it for the rest of my life.

just describe.

soft thick down of a comfortor, with a thickness not appropriate for the weather weve been having, makes the faintest of as i adjust my tossing legs beneath it. electrical signals shoot down my nerves 

all i want is black ink on a page. all i want is black ink on a page. im so stupid. im so illiterate and uncreative and bland and uninteresting and BLUNT and theres no flowery description,  theres just big words replacing simple ones to distract from the fact that all my sentences are generic. theres a complete lack of similes, immersive shit. why have i declined? why am i disgusting scum that doesnt deserve to live. the nasty little amoeba stuck to the bottom of your shoe, nothing but a vile blob to be scraped off the sole against concrete before walking inside. im uncivilized, undeserving of homely possessions and quite honestly would have no idea what to do with them. im an animal that survives by nothing more than the grit in my teeth and my bare skin. utensils are forgone, as well as any other type of formality due to my nature of savagery.

i hate myself. im disgusting im disgusting i should die now more than ever why does nothing creative ever cross my mind why do i waste my time why can’t i progress why can’t i just starve and die and whither away fucking kill me im done i hate this life because i do nothing with it nothing nothing mothing i love that word yet i can’t describe anything give it back i want my talent back the miniscule amount that i did have fuck my loife i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself im a loser a freak a weirdo i don't deserve to live i don't deserve to do anything im dispicable i can’t spell i   can’t write i can’t do anything let me die here die die die die die die die die like my talent like my hours like my dreams and aspirations, dead in a heap. write write write yeah and nothing will come out of it if i keep being so bland so boring so indescriptive and unchanging im STUNTED im nothing i am worthless and i can’t work myself. im not seld disciplinary enough i want to die i don't want to be average but im far below it kill me kill me hahahaha i hate myself i want to die your love is superficial youd fuck any girl walking by no one cares ill die alone i love you i can’t live without you i live for you i fail in every way shape and form how unoriginal  how stunted how fake how fucking repetitive i hate myself so much why did this happen i want to die moommmy i haye this i camt type with tears in my eyes im so alone im never alone enough why don't words come to me ill steal them theyll be mine im a robber of the images you paint inside my head. that wa m trying way too haedd an ytet that sentence was still really lame and pretentious. try not to say really, slightly, almost, very, that type of shit. and tryi not to cure you oompaloompa. do something with your life actually create something cohesive than just spewing nonsense for a word count how are you supposed to grow from this im useless disgusting vile trash i hate everything i do i can’t do anything decently im a failurw i hate myself im gonna get a two on the ap and i was too busy being fat to study over spring break my last and only chance to do so haha im such a faggot so retarderdedsddddddddddd i want to die its not helping im not improving everything is getting worse the stretch marks on my thighs are crawling outwards i hate myself im so fat and uglyfucking kill me i hate myself i hate lmyself i hate myself i hate myself i can’t so anything right im atupid bakakakaka bak abala baka hahahahaahahah i should die i need to die i want to kill im so angry im so spiteful write from personal experience huh well we all know how well that worked out im so boring so cut and paste no wonder no one loves me why whould it come as a surprise just remember the striaght face he said it with. why would anyone like you? why would anyone like you? i hope i go blind. fuck this i can’t write it takes up so much brain power to construct a single decent sentance. i want it to flow i want it to be flowery and intense and immersive. i want to crawl under your skin and direct your mind. im incompeteetetent ill never do that what dumb thing to say i can write seventh five thousand words too bitch but you never said they had to be good ones. take my word vomit my self concieted nonsense and fucking appreciate it i fucking hate you i want revenge why are you doing this focus on your ap your failing you idiot you useless moron die die die love me pity me just don't leave me alone i need ego a need reassurance i need so much and i never give. im a passive consumer, quite obviously from my hip size. no one loves me and no one ever will. ill always be the incompetent outcast forever under whats considered average. hahaha you think your special don't you. youre not. your trash. you. are. an .i diottttt. i hate myself i want to die. i won't study at all this week. and well have homework ahahahahag you fucking moron stop WAITING FOR THINGS TO HAPPEN YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY RIGHT NOW. an opportunity others would kill for. i wanted to skin myself back when i was prettier i wanted to gut myself back when my stomach was emptier i want to die mina everyone haha your such an  idiot okay ive been saying the same things a lot bitch how are you gonna make up for it huh? study like fucking crazy i hope bitch you fucking moron its infinate hours of albert for your retarded Self not working til the last minute huh? as expected from you you worthless garbage you can’t do ANYTHING right and she does EVERYTHING PERFEC. you can’t even do one things decently. your not a fucking child grow up and manage your fucking prioritees better and learn to speak and converse like a normal human being in the meantime maybe. consider it im incompetent a loser a freak why camt i be competent why am i becoming retardeded i can’t handle it don't but a blindfold over me don't deny it don't ease me into a false sense of security and even falser confidence. im not able to properly gauge my abilities. yes i am and there tragic. anyome could write this. anyone. your pathet. a fucking child could do better. does do better i want it so bad but only when its convenient, only when i can whine. i shouldve just taken notes im  stupid hahahahahhaHAHAHAHAH dakedp sa don't take another breath i do t want to hear another word from you just difg your grave and die there fall in be succombed by the dirt let it envelope you cage you in bring to the underground dimension away from society

only twothousand huh. this isnt enough words for you. i always fall short mmhmhm mh


	4. endorphin

course fall of fabric. whispered each night upon the glass chandelier it perched. solemn glows from dashes of fireflies tails streak the ink of sky. their love song is a lament of desperation, a silent yet deafening plea for accompaniment. bright light halos the circumference of your face, shadows cast down your angled jawline that makes it ever so defined. the moon is silent tonight, foregoing the usual weeping it graces us with in the form of eyes folded in a long anticipated rest. wisps of hair swirling drowning amoung raptures of the oncoming dawn.

heart blazing hot enough to cook your insides. pupils engulfed by red. veins swelling and popping from the unforgiving rhythm which blood is pounded against them. shreiking until it scrapes the back of your throat raw, dry tissues rubbing together until your tastebuds are the texture of sandpaper. exerting heaving breaths from your abused lungs, forced over the cacophony of wild animalistic screams.

uneven blue paint stains splatter along your nape, where a necklace of stringed pearls once hung. dual cracked mirrors of a clear opalescent replace the two sockets where his eyes belonged. hands carved from delicate birch wood of a continual light pigment and smooth surface. a still figurine who inhabits a glass case, a pure brilliance to be admired.

his skin porous to allow the lies which diffuse from the air and seep into his soul. so much does the pull of delusional  influence his mind. caricature made of a clandestine embodiment of your insecurities and lost dreams. 

bare parchment strewn limply across a wire. unholy jagged indentations denote brittle nails which had earlier raked through its superficial barrier. cold swaying curtains. circular steal rods in receding twisted swirls. 

im so flawed so unspectacular so ordinary so average. my flaws can be my strengths huh. can they really. where am i in this lost tainted world ofwhich i do not belong my corpse hangs askew across tiled floor upon which i hop from one to the other in a game of life size chess. im glad what you love is dead finally. what i love has never been alive in the first place silver gleaming wrenching slicing lumenescent drizzle fog encompass lap rapture disgusting. it was a time capsule i broke into a million peices. no amount of frustration and longin can bring back my past. a part of myself died that day.

dear rain, you're a bitch. as two faced as the gemini sign you were born under. you laughed too long for it to be genuine, flaunting my misery in my face as you pointed at me as if i were a hilariously disgusting and disshapen mistake. you wanted to see me shrivel beneath your gaze with embarrassment, to make me lesser than yourself. you must get a sick power trip from those things. this display of malevolence was covered with minimal effort, a mere translucent veil. a moment later, you claimed it was friendly teasing, swapping out your masks to complement me. i smiled through it all, as i do most things.

dear jeremy, i fucking loved you, and you treated me like the dirt you walked on. you instilled so many insecurities in me that i still carry to this day. nasty words would leave your mouth on every occassion, and i'd say some pretty awful things too. did my jabs towards your pride leave scars in your memory, as yours did mine? i feel like were similar. defensive, with a fragile image of grandeur. im lonely. no one quite enjoyed my presence. no one quite does now. the worst part was you gave me nieve hope. a smile, a luagh, finding comfort in me in a crowd like i was the only one you could relate to.

i copied down someones work, claimed it as my own, and advertised it to my favorite writer of all time. the person whom i copied it from messaged the writer. i did something so incredulous that it scared that writer from the fandom all together. 

"Absolutely not!" Anja slammed her fists down on the table, getting a little too immersed in her role. The students acting as the Jury jolted in their seats from the sudden bang. Assignment forgotten, she confronted the opposing student with an accusitional point of her finger. The shrill rage in her voice was not one of cheesy faked enthusiasm, the kind appropriate to their given situation "At five thirty last night, you had texted Laura about being sick. Are you going to deny this piece of evidence?" Beads of sweat trickeled down Jamil's forehead. His eyes darted to 

a swan's ballad drifted from the vocal chords which designated his throat. gleaming pools of silver were his eyes. a liquid currency from which lore and legend alike may emerge. he was a fantasy, strung against a canvas and its fraying woven ends of white parchment. it was unweaving from the meticulous layer and cross which formed it. a world on its hinges, a revolution upon our doorstep. clandestine were her words. a sly glint to the pearly jagged rows of teeth which lined her mouth, and curved in a smile. my name rings in chimes of choir bells when the syllables escape your lips. it lacks sincerity. the kiss which drowned me was bitter and frozen, a brief submerge in the atlantic ocean.

to quell my thirst for accompaniment. the atmosphere is uneven, i now know, for that is the cause behind the rippling cool hues which tint the sky when the day has sputtered to a silent end. the image has asualted my eyes 

the string's ends frayed from the tension either side exerted upon it, as it was pulled taught in opposite directions. It was tangled within their ribcage, red lines weaving with rows of bone. an unreciprocated infatuation. neither of them wanted to submit to the fate love had tied them in. his once bright and vivid eyes had dulled with age, now sloped downwards beneath his tired heavy lids. an inoffensive smile now decorated his face in an immortal mask. he was miserable, an obvious truth no one dared to acknowledge. a brilliant dream that he had chased with utmost fervency had fizzled and dissolved, slipping through his fingertips when he had finally reached out towards it. such devotion, all for nothing, was too disheartening. it broke him.

that unnatural concentration of passion saturating his core seeped out from him, diffusing into the atmosphere until it was uniform and without layers of contrast. color left his complexion. the sharp blue of his eyes, red blood grit in a line between his teeth, dulled down to nothing. he was draped in gray.

he was mute, debilitated, a wingless bird.

the hot fizzle of oil on a burnt pan filled my ears. popping and sizzling. my blood was boiling, nearly cooking me from the inside. jeaolusy would likely be the sin to claim my corpse. i am passion incarnate, the essence of rage. my legs will not cross in meek sobriety. not an ounce of reason is held within my words. my actions are mindless whims done on instinct. 

her pink full lips curved like wings of a butterfly when she spoke. her words fluttered in the air as whimsical nonsense. there was no string of continuity attaching it, only delightful sounds. milo rested his cheek on his hand as her stared at her thoughtfully. 

from her illuminated skin to the atmospheric midnight purple tint of her hair. she sang sweet as a mockingbird. in the ring around her iris, flecks of gold caught rays of sunlight. 

she fluttered with life. a line of insidious distrust stretched taught in the setting. discomfort made breaths come shallow. heavy implications replaced oxygen in their immediate surroundings. 

Reverie: an idle daydream; a thought of idle desire; a surrendering to imagination

Loquacious: characterized by talking; talking freely or too much; excessively talkative

Lacuna: omission or empty space; gap in chronology

Incarnadine: pinkish; flesh-colored; blood-red

Lissom: supple; easily bent; lithe; flexible

Lassitude: weariness; lack of energy or motivation

Diaphanous: light; delicate; gossamer; translucent

Clinquant: glittering as gold; glittering with tinsel; showily ornate

Colliquate: to change from solid to liquid; to liquefy

Coalesce: to fuse, intersect, or entwine to create a unity; to unify by an external means

Abattoir: a slaughterhouse; massacre

Marcescent: flower term, withering, but not falling off

Visceral: pertaining to the viscera; relating to deep emotions as opposed to the intellect


	5. Chapter 5

his fingers sifted through the gray fraying strands of her hair, which had been stripped to the point of being a crunchy dry texture. it was bleached to death. he inspected this through his dispassioned daze. it made his insides coil in disgust, though the raking motion through her tangled locks remained, as if done by compulsive habit. the hooded lids covering half of his eyes were heavy with black lines carved from exhaustion. 

his amphetamine-ridden blood made his heart tremor. his pulse fluttered against the walls of his vasculature, pounding, until he could hear the deafening rhythmic beat in his ears. he tried to drown it out.

the look on her face was one of a mentally retarded child, disproportionate and so offensively stupid that it just made one want to strangle her. she was the type one would look at and think: you’re nothing but a burden and an eyesore, you won’t contribute anything to the world, your parents should have aborted you.

his hands stalled wth shivers from time to time from the dopamine reserves being depleted from the synapses in his mind. in this state of addiction, it was either constant stimulation or constant agony. 

you really don’t deserve to exist. you really don’t deserve to exist. 

her small eerie beaded eyes gauged into his own. framing them were almost microscopic strands of thin lashes, that were almost invisible. she was small features on a flabby fat face, a crooked jawline to house pupils that didn’t quite point in the same direction, lips thinner than the width of paper. these lips wrapped around crooked yellowing teeth.

pair this with her saggy middle aged woman tits, saddlebag thighs and lovehandles, scattered with spider veins and stretch marks, and the urge to slap her becomes more understandable.

you don’t deserve to be stupid, as ugly as you are. you arent allowed to be bad everything. youll have nothing going for you, nothing.

people half your age accomplish so much more.

he can just imagine the vomit and drool dribbling from her mouth. she was a fucking infant. no, even less than that. an animal with a genetic mistake, that serves no purpose but to die and eliminate that defective gene from the population.

shes an animal. savage and unsightly, lacking grace or civility. ravenous, short-sighted and fueled only by the immediate pleasures of her primal mind. shes a mistake. not only disfunctional herself, but tears down the functional individuals around her. 

fuck you. fuck you. im a gazelle with a broken leg. i broke it myself, with all the purpose of a foolhardy adolescent, so convinced of their own deluded conclusions. i must break it, i said. now i must live with it. i need to wake up at 3am and start running, in order to keep up with the four-limbed gazelles waking up at 8am. 

this is a scar. a careless action that will mark me for the rest of my life. 

i did this to myself. i did this to myself. thats whats hardest to swallow. but ill take it down like a pill.

bitch theres no fucking exception. your current state is inexcusable, unholy, so far below average that its laughable.

im fronting like a lion, with my party tricks and connect-the-dots creations, that lack any true individual talent. just give me the limelight im thirsty for, i thought.

three fucking years have past. three fucking years bitch. stop the bullshit.

kill me, kill me, kill me. no that would be too much mercy. i don’t deserve it. i get to live with my pile of grabage, with my mistakes. let it hurt, let it resurface memories, you worthless hag.

its disgraceful. to your family name hanging on its hinges in the sign out front, no pride carried with that word any longer. im no royalty. i don’t want to be a fucking renaissance person, i don’t want to be a master of none, i need to relapse a couple years, it isnt fair,  down want lok like this, be like this, trapped between infantry and decrepit molting. disgusting  


End file.
